


Taken by The Faceless Stranger

by reluctant_abandon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub, Erotica, The Quidditch Pitch: The Dungeon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-20
Updated: 2006-08-20
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reluctant_abandon/pseuds/reluctant_abandon
Summary: Hermione is woken by a faceless stranger, and she's forced to beg for something she should never want.





	Taken by The Faceless Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Hermione awoke suddenly, tensed and shaking. The dead silence was broken only by her ragged breathing. A moan slipped past her lips, and the sound was full of longing and promised pleasure. She was twisted up in the sheets, her legs clamped around the thick gathering of material. An achy, empty feeling pulsed between her legs, begging for relief. Refusing to move, denying her body the sensations it was demanding, she could do nothing but tremble. 

  
A fingertip slid up her thigh, the nail lightly biting in. Her body throbbed in heightened pleasure, and it was only after that feeling settled low in her stomach and the fingertip continued upward determinedly that reality intruded enough to concern her. With a small screech she scuttled backward and crouching by the headboard. She frantically swatted at the night stand for her wand. Nothing. It was gone.   
  
She squinted into the darkness, but there was nothing. The curtains were pulled and the moon was new, but even that couldn't explain her absolute lack of sight. She blinked heavy eyelids, but there was no change.   
  
The bedsprings creaked and the mattress dipped as something moved toward her. She tried to jump out of bed, but the sheets tangled around her legs caught at her and sent her sprawling to the floor. She slid against the bed curtains, but instead of the material giving way, it held firm as a stone wall. Hermione climbed to her feet and stumbled backwards, her hand battering against the strength of the bed curtains as she retreated. A soft footfall started toward her.   
  
"Stop! Who's there?" She groped around the table blindly until she found a heavy research book and held it before herself like a weapon. "Ron, is that you? How did you get into the girls' dormitory? This isn't funny."  
  
"It wasn't meant to be," a man's voice rasped. It sounded disguised.   
  
Silence stretched. Only the sound of their continued movement around the bed was audible. His pace was slow and constant, as if he were in no hurry to catch up with her.   
  
"What are you doing?" she asked shrilly.  
  
"What do you want me to do?" The voice wasn't winded or panic filled as hers was, just calm and patient.  
  
"Let me go!" She stopped moving as she screamed this at him. "I mean it!"  
  
"So angry, Hermione." The voice clucked at her disapprovingly. "You were a lot more fun before you woke up."   
  
"What?" She skidded to a stop and glared in the direction she imagined him.   
  
"Can't you feel what I was doing to you?" She heard a small shift and imagined him cocking his head to the side in puzzlement. "Can't you feel how turned on you are?"   
  
"Shut up!" She backed further into the corner, not wanting to restart their trips around the bed, but having to move. "You're lying."   
  
"Don't bother pretending. Five minutes ago you were writhing on that bed, arching into my hands." He edged forward, but she didn't think to race away. "I know how wet you are."   
  
"God, stop it." She started to move, but there was a rush of sound and then his hands were on her.  
  
His fingers curled over her forearms and pried them away from her face. The book tumbled out of her hands and thudded against the floor. She trembled, her breath coming too fast.   
  
"This is your last chance," she whispered, her voice shaken.   
  
"Don't." His breath brushed against her cheek. "I don't want to hurt you."  
  
"Let go of me."   
  
"Hermione, you're trapped and without your wand. The cleverest witch of the year you may be, but defenseless against a bigger, stronger wizard ..." She heard him shrug. "Don't make me hurt you."   
  
"Please." She heard the weakness in her voice, gritted her teeth against it, but crumbled just as quickly. "Please, let me go."   
  
"Relax." He clasped both her wrists into his much larger grip and ran his forefinger down her cheekbone leisurely. "You'll like this." He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against her ear. "I promise."   
  
"No!" She kicked out with her foot but only managed to reach his inner thigh instead of his groin. He made a muffled sound and released her anyway. Hermione rushed into the other corner of the room. "I won't like it! Maybe you are a bigger, stronger wizard, and maybe I can't stop you, but I won't like it. It will be rape."  
  
"Wanna bet?" His voice sounded amused rather than angry.   
  
"What?"   
  
"You'll like it. I've spent months daydreaming about this night. Months thinking about everywhere I want to touch you, and everything I want to do to you. I'll make you like it." He came over the bed again and she didn't even attempt to move. There was no point. "I'm going to make you love it, and you'll beg me to rape you again."   
  
"Fuck you." She slapped him. Hard.   
  
His head snapped to the side under her hand and she felt a thrill of satisfaction before she flinched backward, waiting for the returning blow. None came, only a growl that was more amusement than anger. His body moved even closer to her own, and she could feel his presence hovering over her.   
  
"No. Fuck you," he returned amiably.   
  
He didn't bother with her hands this time. He left them free to do what they would while his left hand curved into her hair and tipped her head upward. He was too close. She could feel how much bigger than herself he was, how much stronger. But he didn't press that strength against her or try to hold her down. Instead he lowered his mouth in a smooth, gentle gesture and pressed his lips against hers chastely.  
  
She held herself rigid, her lips clamped together. His mouth was soft and giving as he kissed her, his hand gentle where it curled into her hair. His other hand slid up her stomach and lightly caressed her breast. An exploring finger ran a ring over her nipple, thanklessly giving pleasure. She shook herself away from him and shoved at his chest.   
  
"Stop it." She shook her head drastically. "Please, stop."   
  
"Sorry. No."   
  
He got an arm around her stomach and she was in the air. A moment later she landed with a thud against the bed, but he was over her before she could flee. His grip was harsh as he dragged her arms upward, and then fabric closed over her wrists and held them stretched above her head. Hermione flailed uselessly, her legs kicking until he grabbed her ankles and anchored them to the bed as well.   
  
"Oh my god." Tears leaked from her eyes now, the terror back and even stronger because of her utter helplessness. "Let me go. I mean it, let me go or I'm going to scream."   
  
"No one can hear you. You know that." He ran his hand from her ankle, up her calf, and over her thigh. It trailed playful circles around her belly button. The flesh there jumped despite the circumstances and she hated herself for it. "We're all alone here, you and I. But don't worry, you'll be screaming soon enough."  
  
He left the bed and she heard him digging through something. The unmistakable sound of a wand flick filled the room and the husky voice issued a command. Her clothes disappeared. One second they were there, and then they blinked out of existence with his command. She felt the weight of them vanish and air brushed against her exposed flesh. Hermione turned her head into the pillow, trying desperately to imagine herself anywhere else. This couldn't be happening.   
  
"I came prepared." The bed creaked as his weight was added to it, and one of his knees came to rest between her spread legs. A sob escaped, unbidden, when she gasped for breath. "Don't cry. I'm not going to rape you, Hermione. I'm not even going to seduce you into letting me fuck you."   
  
"Then, what?" she demanded. Her voice was angry even though it was tinged with tears. Those tears angered her most. It was her weakness and his compassion. Why couldn't he be cruel or hurtful? Why couldn't he make it easy to label him a monster, a rapist?  
  
"I'm going to make you come." The raspy voice whispered into her ear, sending a soft puff of breath against it. She gasped. His hand slid over her rib cage and upward, gently circling her breasts.   
  
His mouth lowered to brush softly over her clenched lips. She wouldn't let him kiss her. She could control that much at least, and she refused to part her lips. He didn't try to deepen the kiss, only nibbled on her lower lip and then drifted over her chin and onto her neck. There he alternated between soft caresses, light nips, and slow drags of his tongue. She laid quietly, trying to force her body to remain unmoved.   
  
Calloused fingertips circled her breast patiently, spiraling upward until her nipple was hard and straining for his touch. Hermione alternatively held her breath or gasped, losing the battle to keep her breathing even way too early in the game. He shifted and his knee edged ever closer to the one place she desperately wished she could forbid him from touching. Spread eagles as she was, it would be too easy for him to do anything with her that he wished.   
  
His lips left her neck and traveled lower. Wet heat surrounded her nipple and he sucked. She strained off the bed, a cry of both surprise and refusal echoed in the air. The sensation didn't cease and she couldn't force herself to act unmoved. Her aching nipple was being soothed and tormented, and the pulling sensation sent a rush through her body. Her hips tipped upward before she could control herself, and then she was shaking with the effort not to react.   
  
A palm slid over her stomach and over her hip. It came to rest on her inner thigh, both too close and too far from the throbbing center of herself. She shuddered again and another tear slipped free and trailed over her face. How could she like this? What was wrong with her?  
  
Teeth nipped at her nipple in a silent admonishment. Grunting, she tried to pretend that her stiffness was in objection to his mistreatment rather than in objection to her traitorous body's longing to get closer to that hand.   
  
His mouth moved to her other breast. He blew on it, watched it tighten to a bud, and then worked it against his tongue experimentally. Her shoulders bit into the softness of her mattress as she fought the urge to force her breast more fully into his mouth. She whimpered, and the sound wasn't what it should be. Around her nipple, his lips quirked into a smile and his hand shifted upward. The instant he slipped a finger into her, she froze. He started tracing circles over her, his movements lazy but devastating. The wetness made his finger slide over her easily. It made it impossible to pretend her body didn't want this. He pressed a long finger into her body, and that too went easily. He added a second finger and arched them inside of her, brushing along the walls leisurely.  
  
She was drowning. Pleasure had rushed to her head and made her dizzy. The shaking of her body was overriding everything else, everything except the feel of him against her. Thoughts, sanity, reality, all of it fell behind the fact that his fingers were causing fire. It was wrong. God, it was wrong, but his mouth against her breast was gentle and his fingers were focused on pleasure not pain.   
  
His fingers withdrew and she whimpered. She bit her lip, ashamed. She didn't want him to stop. The laugh that filled the room was full and warm. It didn't mock her or revel in its own worth. It was real, somehow, in a situation that seemed like a dream. He moved down her body, his hand sliding over her leg as he kissed her hip bone and then her inner thigh.   
  
"Oh god, wait," she sobbed.   
  
"Shhh. Relax." He stroked his finger over her in shallow, light caresses as he watched. Her hips wanted to move against him, to force him to go deeper and faster, but she refused. His finger continued to circle her entrance and, beyond her control, she tightened for him. "It's okay to like it, Hermione. Stop fighting it. It's not your fault."   
  
"Please." She whimpered and when his fingertip dipped into her body, she writhed against him. He chuckled and thrust three fingers into her, hard and fast. "Oh god!"   
  
"You want to come, don't you?" He slid his fingers out and then plunged them back in again, making her gasp. "How close are you?"   
  
"Shut up," she said, panting.   
  
"It's okay, you don't have to tell me." He moved his fingers in a circle before pulling them out and then brushing them upward, over her clit. Hermione shrieked. "I'm pretty sure I'll be able to figure it out."  
  
He shifted the smallest bit, and then his mouth was brushing against her. Shuddering, she twisted away from him, trying to retreat. He clucked his tongue again and threw one heavy forearm over her hips, holding her down. His lips parted and his breath battered against the ultra sensitive flesh. Shaking her head, she struggled against him wordlessly. Then his mouth lowered further, and his tongue slid against her flesh. A soundless gasp escaped and then she could do nothing more than shake.   
  
His fingers slid inside her again as his mouth closed over her clit. She gasped, and kept on gasping as his fingers picked up a pace that his tongue mirrored. Rolling her head, she tried to focus on reality, but it was all gone. Instead she could focus on nothing more than his fingers and tongue. The forearm over her hips moved away so that he could pinch her straining nipples, and she did nothing more than move further into his mouth with her slight freedom.   
  
She writhed under him, spreading her legs wide in invitation and abandonment. A third finger was added once again and as his rhythm changed his tongue began to circle and massage. His lips closed tighter and he began to suck.   
  
"Oh god. Oh fuck!" She clenched her eyes tightly closed as his mouth increased the suction and his fingers increased the pace.   
  
Suddenly he stopped. The urgency boiling within her rushed forward, without her mind, and she moaned in protest.   
  
"What?" She tossed her head again, trying to focus. "Why did you stop?"   
  
"Ask me to finish." His voice was a purr, his throat vibrating against her devastatingly.   
  
"No." She tossed her head again, but this time in refusal.   
  
"Hermione ..." He chuckled lightly before lowering his head.   
  
The pressure was less this time, his strokes lazy and tormenting. His tongue played about her clit, never giving the intensity that she needed. A lone finger slid inside her and ringed the entrance until her body grasped desperately at the emptiness within her. Her thighs trembled beneath him, and she gritted her teeth in pleasure so near pain it was interchangeable. Without warning his talented mouth left her clit and traveled downward. His tongue took over the torture his finger had started, and then his tongue was surging within her. Hermione's moan echoed in the room, unrestrained and panicked.  
  
"Ask me." He drew back and blew against her teasingly.   
  
"Ask me." He slid his tongue upward gratingly.   
  
"Hermione," he nudged his lips against her clit, "ask me!"   
  
He slid his lips over her clit and started a slow, gradual rhythm. Every twitch of her hips, or widening of her legs made him slow the pace. His tongue was merciless, and when he began to mirror the cruel rhythm with two fingers inside of her, she whimpered. The seconds ticked by and her whimpers turned to moans, and then to broken sobs.   
  
"Please," she cried. "Please, just do it."   
  
"Do what?" He drew away slowly, and her body tightened further in protest.   
  
"You know what!" she screamed. "Just do it!"  
  
"You want me to make you come?" His voice was husky and low, and the sound of it made her stomach twitch. 

"Yes!" she sobbed. "God, yes. Please, make me come."   
  
"Since you asked."   
  
He abandoned all decorum in an instant. The attack on her body was fierce and intense beyond anything she could have imagined. She tried to pull back from the sensations even as she moved with him, begging him not to release her for even an instant. The sensations within her had transcended into pure frustration, the emptiness leaving an aching void.   
  
"More," she begged. "Inside me."   
  
Without hesitation he thrust two long fingers inside her, his mouth never leaving her heaving body. And then it hit. She froze, every nerve on overload. She didn't scream. She couldn't. It was a small gasp, nothing more, and then she was convulsing. Her hips arched and strained, but he stayed with her, his mouth relentless.   
  
Gradually he allowed her to come down. Her mind was still swimming in pleasure and confusion when he slid up her body and kissed her. For the first time, his kiss was dominant and demanding. His lips tackled hers, forcing them to respond, and then his tongue was sweeping into her mouth. He kissed her with such possession and care that she couldn't force herself to hurt him, to bite down and injure a mouth that had been nothing but kind to her. He pulled back quickly, as if he knew that reality was coming to her more with every second.  
  
He quickly released her hands and feet and then muttered the spell that would turn the bed curtains back into fabric. The silencing spell was left up, but he paused at the curtains to tell her the spell that would return her eyesight.   
  
"There's a necklace under the bed, with your wand. Wear it if you want me to come to you again."  
  
And then he was gone. The curtains fluttered back into place, but she didn't move. Instead of diving for her wand or moving outside the confinements of the silencing spell to call for help, she turned on her side and curled into a ball. There she cried. Everything she'd thought about herself, everything that she'd considered herself to be, it was all a lie.   
  
A faceless stranger had taken her, used her as he wanted to and then disappeared. It didn't matter that he'd been kind and gentle, or that he'd given her pleasure. That was worse. It violated her further. It twisted her mind until she couldn't find the rape, only the bliss.   
  
It guaranteed that she'd be wearing that necklace. 


End file.
